


Aphelion

by dansunedisco



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Getting Back Together, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Slow Burn, in which i play fast & loose with the regency era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: “Don’t think too badly of me,” he had said, fingers squeezing around hers, his fervent gaze imploring her to understand his choice.And how could she not?-A heartbroken Charlotte returns to her life in Willingden, but soon comes to discover that sometimes there is no going back.
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood & Sidney Parker, Charlotte Heywood/Sidney Parker
Comments: 170
Kudos: 341





	1. Returned

**Author's Note:**

> **a·phe·li·on**  
>  the point in the orbit of a planet, asteroid, or comet at which it is furthest from the sun

Charlotte touched her face, willing the tears stinging behind her eyelids to stop. Crying had never come as easily to her as it did now, even as a young girl rough-and-tumbling across the rolling hills and grassy dales of her father’s lands. She sucked in a breath, choking as a sob wracked her body. She wished with all her being she could protect herself against the pain plucking relentless at her heartstrings, but the solitude of the empty carriage whisking back her to Willingden offered little distraction, and the warmth of Sidney’s hands lingered.

“Don’t think too badly of me,” he had said, fingers squeezing around hers, his fervent gaze imploring her to understand his choice. 

And how could she not? She herself had admonished him — _accused_ him — of not doing all in his power to help his brother Tom. Engaging himself to Eliza Campion was the only clear option. Charlotte, acting in her capacity as Mr. Parker’s secretary, had seen the banknotes. She had read the barrister’s letters; the firm refusals to extend credit from not less than three reputable lending houses. She was coming to realize there had been little interest in investment when all was well in Sanditon. It would stand to reason there would be even less so now, with the town presently smoldering. So, yes: Charlotte could understand his choice. But it did not make her heartbreak any less potent.

Suddenly, she felt quite foolish indeed, knowing her family would expect the happy news of an engagement upon her return only to receive grim tidings instead. She never should have sent that letter home until everything was well in hand. Doubtless, her father would remind her of his warning before her departure, gratified that his caution was warranted and satisfied to never again give his daughters leave to stray beyond the parish. Hot indignation swirled inside of her at the thought, and she angrily swiped at her cheeks. But her anger dissipated as quickly as mist in the morning, and the tears came yet again, unbidden.

When Sidney had ridden down her carriage, she had wanted so desperately for him to tell her he’d made a mistake that she didn’t see the meeting for what it was until it was too late. A goodbye. _Their_ proper parting. It had hurt beyond measure. She would have called it callous or cruel if she had not soundly divined the true nature of Sidney Parker and the extent of his affection towards her.

She hoped to see Sanditon succeed and her friends flourish in their newfound enterprises. Her heart ached for Mary, who had become one of her dearest friends, knowing how close she and the children had come to devastation. She hoped Mr. Stringer would change his mind, and travel to London for his apprenticeship. She wished Georgiana happiness, no matter where or with whom she found it. She even wished the best for Mrs. Campion. 

But Charlotte understood that a chapter of her life had closed, and she could never again return to it.

She bore the rest of the carriage ride well. As they neared Willingden, her melancholy washed away to excitement and she endeavored to be cheerful and in good spirits when she next saw her family. She had missed them all dearly. Although she had kept a continuous correspondence with Alison — who had dutifully transcribed the messages of the elder and younger Heywoods — it wasn’t at all the same as being _home._ As an added benefit, she would now have plenty of stories to regale them with; _her_ stories, not only those she’d read in her books. Most all of her siblings shared her adventurous spirit and loved a good story or two, and she was sure they would be beyond happy to hear more of the seaside town she had fallen in love with. London, of course, would be altered, but it was as good an adventure as anything in the storybooks: A profound betrayal, a maiden in distress, a dashing hero, and a villainous antagonist.

Eventually, the rattling motion of the carriage slowed to a cautious rocking. Surely Mr. Tom Parker had enlivened the driver to the perils of the road best left to single riders or smaller, sturdier conveyances, along with the story of how the Heywoods came into their acquaintance to begin with. 

She knew then that they had reached the path that cut between the not-so-gentle hill a league from the Heywood lands. Before she knew it, her family’s home came into view. She barely waited for the carriage to stop before jumping out, ignoring the footman and his bemused expression entirely as he stepped down to assist her. He moved onto removing her valise instead. Already, Charlotte could see the Heywoods stirred into action, clearly having seen the carriage’s approach from a distance.

It warmed Charlotte’s heart something fierce to have such a reception waiting for her. Her throat burned to choke back happy tears and she waved heartily as her siblings came. The only one missing was the eldest, George, who had left home many years back to tend to his own prospects.

“William— Henry— oh my, John how you’ve grown! Edward and Charles,” she remarked as the boys stepped forward, lined up as if for a full military inspection. Then the girls came, some shy, “Margaret and Mary, my little Jane…” and others not so. 

“Alison!” She enveloped her sister in a ferocious hug. “I see the entire brigade is here to greet me upon my return!”

“To be sure,” Alison replied, easily picking up little Charles and depositing him on her hip. It had only been a summer season, but Charlotte could see that her role as eldest sister had been graciously filled in her absence. “The twins rallied the boys from their chores as soon as we saw the coach coming. It was either you returning from Sanditon or the Prince Regent himself come to visit with such a finely lacquered carriage.”

“Alas, it is only me.”

The twins Anne and Jane came in to squeeze their arms around Charlotte’s middle, the both of them exclaiming, “We’re glad it was you!”

Charlotte laughed, so warmly welcomed it was easy to forget the reason for her hasty return. She sobered quickly, however, and knew she had to tell everyone the truth of it sooner rather than later. “Let’s go home, then?” She secured her valise in hand and bid the footman goodbye, who declined her invitation to feed and water the horses or himself in the Heywood home before climbing into the carriage and setting the way back. 

Two of the younger boys plucked Charlotte’s valise from her hands. “Let us help, Charlotte,” Edward said, but both he and John made little work of it until Henry, who looked to have sprouted up like a weed overnight, took the case by its handle and the three of them went on it with to the amusement of everyone else.

The Heywoods walked back together, the younger of the bunch running forwards then back to Charlotte and Alison like a touchstone. A strong breeze came down from the hill, swirling their skirts and threatening to take the bonnet from Charlotte's head, and would have had it not been so properly secured. It reminded her dearly of Sanditon, and how vigorously Mr. Tom Parker could expound on the robust healthful qualities of its briny air.

Alison broached Charlotte's thoughts and their companionable silence with an easy yet meaningful question: “How did Sanditon treat you?”

“Well. Very well.” She hesitated to continue, thinking of fresh heartbreak only a few hours old. “It is such a lovely place. Salt is everywhere and the shells on the beaches are incredible, and there are _bathing machines._ Such innovation. I found that there really was nothing like a good swim in the sea. Father must be convinced to let you and the little ones see it for yourselves.” She paused, having found it quite easy to lavish compliments on Sanditon. Mr. Parker’s infectious enthusiasm must have rubbed off onto her after all.

“You do have the healthiest glow about you,” Alison said. She set little Charles down and shooed him forward to the gaggle of children ahead. “Charlotte, I don’t mean to pry but… your letter. You had mentioned happy news. Am I mistaken to believe… it is not to be?”

Her stomach clenched. “I confess you read me too well.”

They came to a stop. As their siblings and Charlotte’s valise trudged onward, Alison turned and grasped Charlotte’s hands in hers. “I did not mean to imply that you looked unwell… but I can tell you’ve been crying. Your eyes are all red-rimmed, Lottie. Pray tell, what has happened?”

Her eyes burned again. “Ever so much.” She knew she should keep to happier things, but Alison had been her ever-loyal confidante. The bald way in which she had cut to the quick of the matter made the confession flow worth, and so Charlotte recounted the story, from beginning to end with much-needed alterations as she saw fit to be proper, of how she had fallen absolutely in love with Sidney Parker and how soundly he had broken her heart. 

“How absolutely dreadful,” said Alison after a moment. They were now well and truly alone on the dale. “But I still don’t find the meaning in Mr. Parker engaging himself to this Mrs. Campion.”

“After the fire it was discovered Mr. Tom Parker hadn’t insured the building after all, and with Lady Denham pulling her investment—”

“And with Mrs. Campion the wealthy widow in-wait, he broke with his promise to you.” She looked as if she wanted to say much more, and much worse.

“He’d never made the offer,” Charlotte admitted. A blush crept down her neck. She found herself uncharacteristically tongue-tied in a way she hadn’t felt since — well, funnily enough — her exchanges with Mr. Sidney Parker himself. “I believe he meant to— was about to, that is. But there was a distraction at the ball, right before he would have asked— you have to understand, I would not have sent the letter and made the intentions so plain if I hadn’t had the absolute hope to believe…”

“Ah. You needn’t worry, dear sister, nor explain any further.” A mischievous glint reflected in Alison’s eyes and her hands tightened on Charlotte’s. “I didn’t tell mama or papa or anyone else about the contents of your letter. The secret of your almost-engagement remains between us and the ashes in the hearth.”

“You’ve saved me from a ruinous conversation,” she said, truly astonished and relieved in equal measure. The lack of propriety her father had indeed warned her about in the up-and-coming Sanditon was right on: unchaperoned walks, moments alone with Mr. Parker and other unmarried men, gentlemen or naught, and her ill-advised rescue plot to save Georgiana all had the makings of a reputation in shambles. Worse yet, she had strongly implied an offer of marriage in her personal correspondence. Although her words to Lady Denham were quite true — she hadn’t turned her mind to marriage when she'd left home, seeking neither fortune nor love — becoming a woman of ill repute would affect all of her sisters and stain her family’s good name for years. It looked as if that fate might not come to pass, and for that she was incredibly grateful. “Darling Alison. _Thank you._ ”

“You needn’t thank me. You’ve saved us all from ourselves so often it is my greatest joy to return the favor. Come! We have some feasting to do and you’re surely to be the guest of honor!”


	2. Oblivion

Sidney met the bottom of a bottle and the oblivion that followed with a notable lack of grace.

“I didn’t deserve her,” he confessed to no one in particular, as he’d long been given a wide berth at the Crown. Though logic would dictate that by the very virtue of jailing himself to set others free, he had, in fact, become the selfless man who _did_ deserve Charlotte Heywood, and so—

“Sir?” a server asked him.

Sidney realized he must have said everything aloud. “Nevermind it,” he said. He threw back a snifter of some amber-colored liquid that had long lost its burn and waved for another.

“Some of the same, sir?”

He thumped his fist on the tabletop. “It’s all the _same_ , isn’t it?” he growled. “Sanditon’s finest rotgut swill?”

More was poured without comment.

He drowned his sorrows until his face went numb and he couldn’t remember his own name. Sea shanties were loudly sung and coins were gambled, won and lost. He spoke to anyone who passed by his empty table, and to himself when no did, and he awoke the next morning surprised he had survived the night while also wishing he had not.

Sidney had always had a wild streak, and the after-effects of a night of hard drinking and revelry were no stranger to him. Even so, his past experiences made his present no easier to bear. What in God’s name had possessed him to consume that last bottle? To his knowledge, no one had pressed him. His head throbbed. His mouth tasted like he’d eaten a fistful of beach sand, and his body ached as if he’d swum a league out and back in the Sanditon sea. 

Worse yet, the specter of James Stringer hovered above him. A disapproving frown was etched on his face.

"The privy is out back if you need to make sick," Stringer said. Not an apparition after all.

Sidney did not need to be told twice. 

He cleaned himself up as best he could with the cold, stagnant water by the spit sink afterward, and reluctantly made his way back to the Stringer residence. 

It was early morning still, and a chill that promised dreary weather to come clung to the air. Though strange circumstances found him there, he couldn't say he was displeased to re-enter a place of warmth. Stringer's tenement apartment was small and tidy. Rolls of paper littered a desk in the far corner; quill, ink and a half-melted candle were stashed in the sill above it. For a moment, Sidney imagined himself here: a man of little means, ambitious enough to rise above if he so wished, yet satisfied enough with a day’s honest work. He would have little care for fashionable society or styling himself in a genteel manner. He would be free to marry for love and live in the hedgerows if it so suited him and his little wife.

He had a vision — a leftover hallucination from the drink, surely — of him and Charlotte in such a universe, where they could find happiness in one another until the end of their days. A place where he would not be considered a suitable match for the country’s richest widow. A place where Tom did not require his help. A place where Georgiana did not need his protection. A place where he could simply _be._

Reality, he had learned long ago, was never quite so sweet.

Stringer waited for him in the kitchen. “You’ve come out alive, sir.”

“Indeed. I fear to ask how I came to intrude upon your hospitality.” 

He had seen his reflection in the looking glass after making a mess of his morning. A purpling bruise bloomed above his left cheek, and his knuckles were split and red. He remembered nothing of his apparent boxing and prayed he hadn’t tried to _fight_ Mr. Stringer while he’d been soused out of his mind.

“I found you wandering the streets,” Stringer said. “You insisted I not let you return to Trafalgar House, and you refused to make your way back to the Crown Hotel. You— um. You— that is…”

“Out with it,” he prompted.

“You threatened to ‘beat me bloody if I let your brothers or Mary or the children’ see you in such a state, sir. I took no offense to it, mind. I couldn’t rightly let you sleep under the scaffolding, and so I brought you back to my home.”

There was very little Sidney could say. A self-deprecating voice whispered to him that it would have served him well to sleep in the gutters like a dog. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I see that I am in your debt.”

“No need for that, sir. Shall I… fetch someone for you?”

“Not necessary. As wretched as I undoubtedly look and feel, I am capable of making my own way.” Even as he said this, his stomach turned and his knees went weak. “I really must take my leave and beg I have not inconvenienced you too much. I will not forget your… kindness, Mr. Stringer. I will be sure to call on you in London and hope I will be well received.”

“You won’t have cause to call, sir. I am— that is, I mean not to leave Sanditon.” 

For a moment, Sidney wondered _what_ or, rather, _who_ would have caused Stringer to leave behind a lucrative apprenticeship to stay in town as a tradesman. 

Surely it was no secret that he and Mrs. Campion had recently become engaged. Sanditon was small, and gossip traveled faster than fire. With Sidney out of the way, and no better prospects in wait, surely a father with eleven children and a small Willingden estate would agree to a match between his eldest daughter and a respectable working man.

Stringer gave him an unreadable look. “I am Sanditon’s foreman, sir, and this job is mine to complete.”

A wave of relief settled over Sidney, followed soon after by guilt.

Again, he found himself truly thoughtless; thinking only of himself and his personal dilemmas. Stringer had lost damn near everything: his family, his home, and now it seemed he had cast aside his ambition to honor his father’s legacy and fulfill Tom’s dreams. 

“But one thing before you leave, sir,” Stringer continued. “If I may be so bold to speak on such things, Miss Heywood came to call the day previous to pay her respects to my father and speak her goodbyes. She told me she was leaving Sanditon, and had no intentions of returning. She did not give her reasons as to why, exactly, but I suspect it is your doing. I have no quarrel with you, Mr. Parker, but the men have heard rumors—”

“You are out of line, Mr. Stringer,” Sidney snapped, immediately understanding the conclusion. “Gravely out of line. Have I ever given you cause to believe I am a man who would open a woman to questions on her virtue? Do you believe I am so callous that I would do such a thing to _Miss Heywood?_ ”

“I know you but little, sir,” he said, “yet I can attest to your fair dealings with my father and my men. Even so, you must realize your actions with Miss Heywood have called her character into question?”

“My actions? My _actions—?_ ”

“Good God, sir, you rode down her coach — in broad daylight! In view of anyone with a pair of working eyes!”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you or anyone else in his godforsaken town!”

If Sidney expected a fight from James Stringer, he came away from it sorely disappointed.

Stringer merely shook his head. “No… no, of course you don’t. You don’t have to care about what anyone else thinks about you. Why would you?”

The unspoken implication of how Charlotte would suffer for it was louder than a gunshot.

All of Sidney's goodwill and sense of propriety fled him. His coat hung on a hook by the door, but his hat and walking stick were nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t the first time he had lost his personal effects after a rambunctious evening, nor did he suspect it would be his last. He collected what was his, fuming. “Good day, Mr. Stringer,” he spat, “I wish you all the best in your future endeavors.”

The walk back to the Crown was torturous. He felt ill. The salty air had quite the opposite effect it usually did, and by the time he made it back to his room, he was sweating profusely and cursing his entire existence. He hadn’t the strength to take himself to the cove for a swim, so he arranged to take a bath in his room instead.

It took so long to fill the tin tub with hot water that it was merely lukewarm by the time Sidney stepped into it. Still, it did the trick to settle the worst of his chills and ease his pains.

Near ten years ago, he had found himself in much the same state. After Eliza, he had proceeded without a single care for himself or anyone else; he’d only snapped out of it thanks to Tom dragging him, quite literally, to his senses. And now here he was again, toes lined up against a precipice that dropped into an abyss of destruction.

Sidney slipped into the water until his face was covered, his heartbeat a dull and friendly sound in his ears.

_No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man._

Then why did this all feel so familiar?


	3. Tilework

“Ho! Watch out below!”

Charlotte leaped back as a shower of ceramic tiles cascaded from the rooftop above. They crashed at her feet with a loud smash.

“Charlotte!” Her father ran over to assess the damage. Finding his eldest daughter unharmed, if only a little shaken, he turned his ire to the roofer above. “I beg you to mind your surroundings, Mr. Jones! You very nearly caused a terrible accident! Only one inch more— I can’t even describe that might have come!"

Mr. Jones removed his hat in deference and shame. “Yes, sir, of course, sir. My apologies, Mr. Heywood— and Miss Heywood!”

“No harm done, Mr. Jones,” she called up, and turned to soothe her furious father. “I was in no danger, Papa, really.”

“I beg to differ!”

“I was very far away from the accident,” she said. As she spoke she drew her foot back and gently tapped the toe on the ground beneath to dislodge any evidence on the contrary. “And besides, this is the very first incident of such an occurrence—”

“No, no, my dear,” he interrupted, still flustered on her behalf. He jabbed an accusatory finger at the broken tiles. “A construction site is no place for a young lady; and as I cannot promise you will be entirely protected, I must forbid you from attending me here forthwith.”

“But who will feed you if I don’t come?” She said nothing of how often she’d climbed scaffolding and scrambled across precarious wood planks in Sanditon, nor did she mention how easily anything else could befall her while walking outside. Instead, she presented him with the wicker basket of bread and cheese that had become the staple diet of her father and his working men. She flipped the cloth covering back to reveal something even more tantalizing: a fresh meat pie. “At least take a moment’s rest with me. Far away from the roofing, if it please you.”

Mr. Heywood, unable to deny his daughter much of anything, nodded. “Just this one last time, Lottie.”

They retired to a well-shaded copse of trees, far enough away that even if Mr. Jones flung a tile in their direction with all this strength, they would be in no danger of being hit.

It was a very pleasant day. The air was crisp and clean, the sun shining cheerfully in a cloudless blue sky. She fluttered a blanket across the grass in the fashion of a picnic, remembering a time not so long ago when Mrs. Griffiths had admonished her and Georgiana for desiring to sit and eat outside. Perhaps it was not to-do in London, but it felt perfectly invigorated here.

She sat down and disbursed the food, making sure to slather a large helping of fresh butter on the heel of bread she offered her father. Though he was not required to, he often worked from sunrise to sunset, and it had not escaped her notice that he looked trimmer than before. The cuffs of his shirt were rolled above his elbow in the fashion of a tradesman, the tops of his arms tanned brown, the tips of his ears burned red. She couldn't help but worry for his health, despite his movements betraying a man fit beyond his years. “I brought plenty for you and the rest,” she said, “and Mama made an extra pie.”

“Alongside three loaves of bread,” he said, amused at her obvious trap to fatten him up. “You are too kind to me, Charlotte. I must admit I am not altogether upset you are returned home.”

"I am glad to hear it as Willingden suits me very well."

They shared a smile and continued to eat in comfortable silence.

As Charlotte gazed out across the Heywood acreage, she wondered — not for the first time since returning — if what she'd said to her father was indeed how she felt. Traveling to Sanditon with Mary and Tom Parker had been her first step into the world and, in truth, it had ended so badly she wasn't sure she'd ever want to venture out again.

It had taken a fortnight for Charlotte's situation to set in upon her return: that she was well and truly home and would, perhaps, never again leave. It was a realization that had led to heartbreak but also lent to happiness, too.

The noise of the Heywood home compared to Trafalgar House was incomparable, as was the constant visitation of each of the Heywood children to Charlotte’s room. Of all the things she sorely missed, the privacy Sanditon had afforded her came as the greatest surprise. How readily had she taken to a room of her own, and a bed of her own, of which she was much reminded when both of the twins attempted to lodge ice-cold hands and feet on her person most every night.

Still, she found a routine that fit her life well. She rose early each day and quickly established herself in the rotation of the farm’s many chores. Though her father was a gentleman, he worked diligently with the tenement farmers on their land and never shirked his responsibility. Always curious about the latest innovation of technology and a man ahead of his times, he had purchased equipment that made the backbreaking labor perhaps not so breaking, but it was hard-going all the same. Sometimes Charlotte saw a cut of Tom Parker in her father for all his forward-thinking ideas, though he had much more sense and both feet firmly planted on _terra firma._ Not every newfound technology came to fruition, but the farmers all loved him just the same.

The benefit of it all was that it completely took Charlotte’s mind away from thoughts of Sidney Parker. Though her thoughts wandered idly as she picked eggs from the chicken coop, and strayed in the afternoons during her needlework or the quiet nights of reading by the hearth, the pain if it all had dulled to a bruise. If she pressed on it, she could exact a terrible amount of agony, but if left alone, it was simply _there._ An obvious injury, but not grievously life-threatening. In the quiet of night, sometimes she secretly wondered if she would ever forget his face or his touch, or if she would be made to carry the weight with her for the rest of her days, but then Anne or Jane would toss and turn or edge an elbow into her rib, and she would put the question aside a little while longer.

"You are deep in thought, Charlotte," her father interrupted her melancholy musings. "What is on your mind?"

She brightened at once. "I was thinking how splendid the cottages look."

"Indeed they do. Your Mr. Stringer's plans were very sensible."

The gentle implication made her flush. For what felt like years, she had worked tirelessly to convince her father to refurbish his tenant cottages along modern lines, and seeing the construction at Sanditon had only ignited her ardor further. An added benefit of working as Mr. Parker’s _de facto_ secretary was that she’d been inundated with numbers and figures of the timber, tile, steel and more. What was more: she had become acquainted with a very accomplished and aspiring architect.

"I thought so,” she said. “I'm very pleased you were convinced by them. Mr. Stringer is very talented.”

“I agree, _very_ talented. He writes to me that he may yet go to London to complete his apprenticeship.”

Her eyes widened. During their goodbyes, Mr. Stringer had been resolute in his decision to stay in Sanditon and forgo his education. She was pleased to hear of the change. “Oh! London! That is good news indeed. How did it come to be?”

“A Mr. Parker spoke on his behalf, you see, and the firm agreed to a deferment.”

Her heartbeat hastened. “A Mr. Parker?”

“Why, Mr. Tom Parker, to be sure." He laughed and patted her hand. “You haven’t forgotten your Sanditon hosts, I hope.”

“No." Suddenly, her appetite fled her. "Of course not.”

“Are you well, my dear? You’ve gone pale.”

“Yes, Papa. Forgive me.” She rallied, her mouth lifting into a faint semblance of happiness. “I was just remembering Mr. Stringer’s earlier poor fortunes, but it seems… all will be well. I am very happy for him.”

Mr. Heywood regarded her with a knowing look, perhaps thinking he had the full account of her heart. Ever since he had begun his business correspondence with Mr. Stringer — having come into his acquaintanceship in the unconventional manner of his daughter, though they were formally introduced via Mr. Tom Parker to be entirely proper — he surely had suspected Charlotte’s feelings on the matter. She hadn’t the energy to dissuade his assumptions. Better yet, she'd thought, let him think it so.

He patted her hand again. “He is a good fellow.”

Her shoulders deflated slowly and her smile waned. Exhaustion fell over her shoulders like a shroud. Her Sidney-shaped bruise had been pressed and false cheer now felt impossible to pantomime. "I am distracting you from your work, aren’t I?”

“Not at all, my dear, but I am sure you would rather be walking on such a fine day than sitting here with me.”

They both stood.

She hitched the now-empty basket atop her forearm. "Mama asked I remind you to come home at a reasonable hour tonight."

“Tell Mrs. Heywood I shall try my best.”

With that, Charlotte began her long walk home. Though she dearly wanted to inspect the cottages and their progress more closely, she knew neither her father nor Mr. Jones would appreciate her encroachment after the events of the day.

Her intended distraction gone, her circuitous thoughts wandered back to the matter of Mr. Stringer, the apprenticeship, and the mysterious Mr. Parker.

It was certainly possible, and probable, that Tom would have gone in defense of Mr. Stringer. But the matter of his reception in London society was indeed very questionable. Though Sidney had once challenged Charlotte's worldliness, it did not take practical knowledge to understand how badly the subject of Sanditon and its business had been handled. Even her father's cottages were insured as were his lands and the livestock it contained.

And with the death of the elder Mr. Stringer hanging like a black cloud above the enterprise, Charlotte surmised Tom would have a difficult time recovering his reputation as a businessman with worthwhile connections and opinions. It was, after all, the reason Sidney had left for London in his stead.

Thus it begged the question: Was the generous Mr. Parker actually Mr. _Sidney_ Parker?

Every fiber of her being screamed _yes._ It must be so.

She came to an abrupt halt along the walking path, suddenly overcome. Her throat tightened and her breath came in rapid, shallow gulps. A month had gone by since the moment on the cliffs with Sidney, and she pressed her fingertips against her mouth as phantom memory kissed her.

It would be so much easier if she could come to hate him. If he could have provided her a true reason to loathe him. Her hand slipped away from her face and down, palm against her chest; right above her racing heart. The pain felt so fresh and her corset felt too tight. She begged her legs to keep her upright until the moment passed. She closed her eyes.

Eventually, it did pass, as it always did.

She continued on.

Despite the day beginning on cheerful footing, it seemed her dark mood had called on some higher power to do its worst, and even darker clouds began to roll in over the horizon. An unladylike curse flew forth from her lips as a crack of thunder split overhead, and a deluge of rain began to pound relentlessly down upon her. There was no escaping it despite her haste, and soon she was having to use all her strength to pull her boots free from the sucking mud. The Heywood home was too far away to keep on as she was, and she scrambled off the beaten path to find the old Fernsby lean-to.

A pregnant cow was already huddled under the shelter when Charlotte arrived. The bay graciously made room for the sodden young lady as she approached, shivering and chattering.

“H-how d’you do, ma’am,” Charlotte greeted, and presumed them friends enough when the cow responded with a put-upon grumble as if they both were bemoaning the unfortunate turn in the weather indeed.

She ran a gentle hand over the cow’s neck. When she wasn’t immediately bucked away, she inched in to steal her newfound friend’s warmth. Her fingers and toes felt half-frozen. “If only Mrs. Campion could see me now,” she mused. “No doubt she believed this was my idea of amusement. Reading Heraclitus and dancing in the mud with heifers like an undignified creature of the bog.”

“ _Moooo.”_

“No offense meant, ma’am,” she said. 

The rain continued on with no indication it would soon stop. Charlotte amused herself by imagining Mrs. Campion — or Lady Denham and even Lady Babington, though she felt quite wicked in doing so — in her own present situation, wondering how each of them would respond or act. Chatting with a cow didn’t seem quite so absurd as her imagination. There was no way those other women would have ever found themselves in her current predicament.

Eventually, the rain relented enough that both Charlotte and her friend the cow decided to go on their ways. It was hard-going along the walking path, and by the time Charlotte reached the edge of home, her boots and stockings were abused beyond repair.

She knocked feebly at the door before entering and was quickly set upon by a gaggle of Heywoods.

Mrs. Heywood shooed them away and rushed to her eldest daughter.

“Oh my dear,” she said, touching the back of her hand to Charlotte’s forehead. She tutted fretfully. “You’ve been gone _hours_ , Lottie. Your father rode home as soon as the storm began and left straight away to search for you once he’d learned you hadn’t returned. Where have you been?”

“I found shelter under the Fernsby’s hut,” she explained, and found all the attention had made her knees wobbly and, now that she’d focused on it, she _did_ feel rather out of sorts. “But a cow kept me company. I named her Lady Denham.”

Mrs. Heywood looked stricken. “Let’s get you to bed, Charlotte.”

Alison immediately came forward to offer her assistance.

As Charlotte was herded along, Mrs. Heywood turned to the remaining children and began ordering them about for tea, boiling water, clean clothes, blankets and the like. Tasks given, they scattered.

Finally, she turned to Jacob, who was the oldest boy after George, and said, “As soon as your father returns, he must go in search of a doctor— and I don’t care a whit if he must go beyond five miles to find him!”

Having never once heard his mother use such language, Jacob snapped to attention. He took his post at the door so as not to delay a single second if he saw his father ride over the hill, and sent a fervent prayer above that Mr. Heywood return with haste; and another for his sister Charlotte as well.


	4. Rumors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumors fly and a decision is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone reading and commenting; it's been a rough couple of months for me
> 
> fair warning: this chapter features eliza quite a bit

Time passed, as it was wont to do, and it was not long before Sidney found himself playing the part of another cog in the predictable clockwork that was the London _ton._

Flutes of champagne, finely groomed gentlemen and comely ladies marked the occasion, all of them drinking and laughing and talking about everything and yet nothing at all.

No matter how his brother Tom had attempted to dress Sanditon, the little seaside village was as far away from here in spirit as it was in literal distance; and oh, how Sidney longed to be anywhere but here. There was a time, not so long ago, where the idea of longing for Sanditon would have been preposterous, but damn him if he didn’t miss the tranquil quiet of the woods and the blustering winds sweeping up from its cliffs; friendly faces, and life taken, perhaps, at a more leisurely pace.

His night thus far had exhausted him. Eliza had paraded him about, and he’d been obliged to make polite conversation and connections. He would, after all, inherit her friends as much as she would his.

The thought no longer appealed.

It had been clear from the time they had become engaged that Eliza thought of him as nothing more than an ornamental piece she’d set aside ten years previous. Something to be dusted off, brought out, and placed back atop the mantle for display with little regard to his own feelings in the matter.

They played their parts, yes, but the motions felt like a business venture and not a love-match. Mayhaps a year ago he would not have known the difference, but he did now. It was a sour thought.

A touch at his elbow brought him back to the present.

It was clear a question had been asked of him, but he had no means with which to properly answer. 

Eliza laughed; not too loudly, of course. “Oh dear, our Mr. Parker is in the clouds! Mr. Roberts asked how business in Sanditon fares.”

Sidney felt his lips pull into a tight line. It was a mockery of a smile. No one in the group acknowledged it, just as no one had dared address the dismissive attitude with which he’d carried through much of their idle chatter. 

The circle he’d found himself in consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Peregrine Nott of Nott shipping empire fame, Mr. Roberts — who was a well-to-do barrister — and his cousin, as well as the lately widowed Lady Beaumont.

“Well enough,” he replied, reluctant to speak on business matters in such a setting for more than propriety’s sake. Tom’s blunder was a wound that smarted still. “My brother writes that the rebuild is coming along nicely.”

“With thanks to you,” Eliza said.

“On the contrary, Mrs. Campion. All the accolades belong to Mr. Stringer,” he redirected. He nodded to the general mass. “Sanditon currently employs a very talented architect.”

“Ah!” Mr. Roberts chimed in, “the name is very familiar indeed. Caney spoke very highly of Mr. Stringer’s submission to his firm — your letter of recommendation was quite well received, Parker.”

“Indeed.” 

Eliza slid him a sideways glance, but her carefully painted-on facade did not budge in the slightest. “I see we’ve fallen into the trap of business. How dreadfully boring on such a lovely evening. Don’t you agree, Lady Beaumont?”

The lady’s fan waved. “Tedious, so tedious. Leave that talk to the parlor room, I’ve always said.”

“I am in full agreement,” said Sidney, which earned him light laughter.

“Then let us speak of more invigorating matters,” Eliza said. Her hand came to rest lightly on Sidney’s arm, and she leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ve just heard a very funny story from Sanditon.”

“Oh?” Lady Beaumont hummed.

“Indeed such an interesting story and very pertinent, as we are on the business of Mr. Parker’s quaint seaside town. During the summer a Miss Heywood stayed as guest under the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Tom Parker — she was such a _darling_ country girl; very modest; never been beyond the parish of her home—”

Sidney’s hand at his side tightened into a fist. As Eliza’s words tumbled forth, no small helping of dread and anger began to boil under his skin.

“—during a horrible downpour, the poor dear felt quite ill—”

The required murmurs and tidings of good health were sprinkled about, and the hair on the back of Sidney’s neck began to rise.

“Yes, her father rode all the way from Wellingdern to seek Sanditon’s physician, who, consequently, is from the continent and, while he speaks very properly, his translations are oft the cause of salacious gossip— with his most recent as labeling Miss Heywood as requiring _confinement—_ ”

Lady Beaumont inhaled loudly. 

A scandalized silence passed.

“I am sure it was merely a fault of translation,” Eliza continued on, the perfect picture of sympathy. “The poor dear. I can only imagine the scandal and trouble that word could have _implied_. She is very young, and unmarried yet.”

Sidney’s face went pale. His ears rang, a tinny whine that drowned out the chattering murmur and gasps of the group. It was the most blatant implication he had ever heard, and Eliza’s lack of grace in stating it indicated just how cruelly she had meant it.

Worse yet, Lady Beaumont was a notorious gossip. It would only be a matter of time before Eliza’s anecdote would pass down the line and shred Charlotte’s reputation to tatters.

The conversation was quickly steered away by Mrs. Nott, who seemed much more sympathetic to the plight of Miss Heywood’s sudden and unknown misfortune, and Sidney fell back into silence to prevent the very virulent reproach he dearly wanted to pass onto Eliza.

A memory swam up to meet him: Standing in the Campion's visiting room, hat in hand like a pauper. He’d meant only to inquire about a business venture; she was, after all, a wealthy widow who’d been born on the hills of Sanditon, but it didn’t take long for the truth to out; what the both of them were looking for, and were willing to give up to receive. Her freedom for his.

“It was always supposed to be you,” she had told him. Her eyes had been glossy with unshed tears and bluer than the sea, and for a moment, he had been transported to a time before, when he’d loved her wholeheartedly. At one time Eliza’s fervent anguish might have moved him deeply. At one time her confession of a decade of longing might have swayed him. He was no fool. Women had few prospects in this world beyond marrying well. As a young man, his proposal had offered her no security beyond his ambition and the love he had in his heart. Mr. Campion had been the sensible choice. 

But seeing her now, swathed in silk and bathed in golden light, he burned with shame. The carefully crafted illusion of the evening shattered around him like glass. Want of another life had taken root, and it was warm brown eyes he’d been dreaming of instead.

He barely excused himself before walking away.

-

Lady Susan Worcester ambushed him at the refreshments.

In reality she did not, but Sidney rather felt more subdued hostility radiating from her person than he sometimes did during a boxing match. He couldn’t blame her, as dear of a friend to Charlotte as she was.

“Let us speak frankly, Mr. Parker,” she said. She held her flute of champagne aloft and her gaze remained fixed on the crowd. If anyone were to see her and Sidney standing next to one another, they would have little indication she gave him any attention at all. “As your Mrs. Campion blathers on with nonsense, I’ve come to hear another ‘funny story’ about our mutual friend. A very curious one.”

Sidney’s blood turned to ice.

“There is talk of our friend’s carriage having been descended upon by a single rider. No one gave a name, mind you — perhaps out of a greater love for our friend and her reputation than coin, but such salacious news is difficult to keep hidden,” she continued. “But we needn’t confirmation from a coachman to know who it was, do we, Mr. Parker?”

Despite Lady Susan’s personal life being rather entangled in such things, she was not known to gossip idly. In fact, she had as much of a straight-forward nature as a woman of her station could abide. Sidney knew it would only take a single whisper from her lips to turn fiction into fact, and it seemed by aligning himself with Eliza Campion, he had rearranged the board against himself.

“Lady Worcester—”

“Do not mistake me coming to you as a threat,” she said. A tight smile ticked the dimples of her cheeks in. “I only have _her_ best interest at heart. I bring this to you because it is only a matter of time before a rumor such as this grows powerful enough to destroy more lives than three.”

Indeed, Lady Worcester was correct. If the Beau Monde believed Sidney had inflicted disgrace upon Charlotte well before his engagement, the scandal for Eliza would be grave as well. Though the aristocracy often turned a blind eye to marital affairs and the like, discretion was considered key; it was rarely discussed in the parlor room for all to see and hear and was therefore viewed as highly improper otherwise.

“I was surprised to hear of your engagement.” Lady Worcester sighed, turning in his direction as if they’d just now started a conversation. It was an impressive play. “I had believed your affections lay elsewhere. It is not often I am wrong about such matters. Nevertheless, congratulations.”

He felt stung. Hot and cold, yet strangely numb. Perhaps the exhaustion had made him loose-lipped. Or perhaps he simply did not care anymore. “I’m not in want of good tidings and felicitations,” he said. “You have the right of the matter.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head, but even so, Sidney believed he had waltzed right along into her trap. “Then you’ve thrown yourself on the sword to save Sanditon.”

He did not reply.

“I am a friend,” she said, finally.

“Are you?”

“It is said the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but I would prefer to not view you as such." Her pleasant smile faded. “We have a common goal, Mr. Parker. It is a simple one. I implore you to mend whatever it is that needs mending, and I will handle the rest.”

And with that, she stepped into the crowd and was swept away in the current just as quickly as a sandcastle crumbled in the tide. Sidney, left with no further instructions, decided champagne and wine were no longer strong enough for his tastes, and he retired to an alcove with a freshly poured glass of whiskey to ruminate alone.

How could he live with Eliza after what she’d done? How could he live with _himself_ ? He had stood idly by as Charlotte’s reputation was tarnished. How foolish had he been to have quarreled with Mr. Stringer. After all, he had been completely and utterly correct. He was oft a selfish man, blinded by what _he_ thought was best.

Georgiana had suffered for it. Charlotte had suffered for it.

Mend what needed mending, he thought bitterly. There was naught to be mended. Not anymore. 

Time passed slowly in his little bubble. Once or twice he was interrupted, but whatever the intruders saw in him immediately turned them away.

Eliza was not so easily cowed when she found him next. “Sidney—”

He cut her off. “Leave me be, Mrs. Campion.”

“Come now, darling, the night is early yet.”

He bristled at her cajoling tone, as if she were attempting to tempt a cantankerous cat out from under a barn. “My presence is hardly required.”

“But it _is_ desired.” She moved closer, the teasing smile on her face dropping away to concern. “I’ve upset you.”

“Clearly.”

“Darling, I was merely teasing.”

“Without regard to whom the jest mocked, or how your _teasing_ may ruin a young woman for the rest of her life. What you implied was poor form indeed, and _cruel_ above all else,” he said, vibrating with anger. Blood pounded in his ears. He fought to regain control of himself, but Eliza so easily plucked emotion right out of his heart.

“I implied nothing,” she replied. All pretenses between them dropped away. “All I’ve said is true. Miss Heywood fell dreadfully ill and was attended to by Sanditon’s own German doctor.”

His world tipped. He'd thought she'd conjured up an inventive tale, but this was indeed much worse. “ _When?_ How did you come into this knowledge?”

“Why, your brother, of course.”

_Tom, you fool! You idiot!_

“I’ve kept a correspondence with him,” she continued on blithely. “As his primary investor, I find it is quite pertinent and advisable to keep a very tight leash on how he deals _with_ said investment.”

“And the matter of Miss Heywood?”

“Knowledge given freely a fortnight ago. He’d mentioned you would perhaps be interested to note such an event, as Miss Heywood was such a dear friend to the family, but I didn’t want to upset you.”

His gut clenched. He again felt hot and cold all over; instantly feverish. Sidney had a stack of Tom’s letters, unopened and unread, on his desk. They had come by post, one after another, like a deluge of parchment and ink and Sidney had barely the stomach to read what foolishness he would surely find among their crisp pages. He would forgive his brother his trespasses, always, but it didn’t mean he would blindly open his arms in friendship; not after his brother’s blunder had cost him what he knew now was his last chance at true happiness.

“And you didn’t think to tell me until you’ve told all the rest of the world,” he said, but his previously heated tone had cooled to ice. 

Finally, _finally_ he saw Eliza for who she truly was.

He had loved her once, yes. And even as Charlotte had found a piece of his heart, it would have been wholly a lie to say that Eliza never held it fully; nor to say that he hadn’t imagined the very moment when she would finally come to her senses and return to his waiting arms. But that was a dream of a foolish young man who believed passion and lust equated to true friendship and love.

And just as the Eliza she once was was no longer, so was he.

Perhaps Eliza sensed the shift in temperature, as well as his temperament, because she inched forward and again beseeched him with her sad, longing gaze. “Forgive me, Sidney. I simply— I thought if you knew—”

“What, perchance, was I too simple to know? That Miss Heywood was ill? That is not the matter at hand nor the reason for my ire. You besmirch her character to strangers, imply she is— I cannot even bring myself to repeat such a foul, grievous lie— and you believed I would laugh along with you at her poor fortunes. If you truly, honestly believe this to be the case, then I am ashamed to say that you knew me at all, Mrs. Campion. I will freely admit that I am a flawed man, with faults like any other, but you hide behind your falsity and cruelty. You are a rich woman, well-bred and well-connected, and you cannot restrain yourself from pushing someone else down in the mud so that you may look _clean_ in comparison.” He drew in a steadying breath. “I will excuse myself for the night. If your friends ask why I’ve departed, use whatever excuse you like.”

He left her there, stunned and speechless. She did not follow him.

The air outside was brisk, the nip at his cheeks exactly what he needed to clear his head.

The porter called forth his carriage upon seeing him, and Mr. Blythe asked where to as he climbed in. It took a moment for the idea to crystalize; it was preposterous, potentially disastrous, but his stubbornness took hold, and he knew he wouldn’t let it go until it was realized.

“To Bedford Place, Mr. Blythe — but I do not plan to tarry long,” he said. “I intend us to go to Willingden at first light on the morrow.”

“Very good, sir,” Mr. Blythe said, tone even and unsurprised, and with a click of his tongue, they were off.


	5. Gamble

Morning came slowly.

Sidney left Bedford Place no less determined than he had been the night previous, but doubts nipped at his heels as he did. His engagement to Eliza still stood and Sanditon’s future was as perilous as ever. Held hostage, as it were, by two women who seemed to want their way no matter the cost. With those odds, he would have been a fool to believe a satisfactory conclusion was probably or even possible. Life seldom wrapped itself up in a perfectly tied ribbon. 

However, Lady Worcester had implied a solution. What it was or how it would come to be he could not fathom, but taking risks ran deep in Parker blood. The stakes at hand were grave indeed, but hope burned in him, heedless to sense.

Not every party would or could emerge unscathed. He may arrive in Willingden to find a father hellbent on remedying disgrace with pistol shot. His maltreatment of Eliza -- regardless of how warranted he believed it to be -- could leave Sanditon bankrupt. A concerned peer could call into question his judgment, or his choices could further imperil Georgiana. High risk lent to high reward, just as well as it did absolute ruin. Such was the nature of gambling. In his younger years, he often played too deep. Recklessly and rapidly. It was altogether too easy to throw it all away when one felt everything he had was worthless, including himself.

He frowned. All this introspection made him irritable. There was no use in wondering what may happen now. He had cast the die. Whatever waited at the end of his journey would simply have to _be._

He sat back in his seat. Glaring out the window of his carriage wouldn’t make him arrive at his destination any quicker, but he sorely wished it could.

-

“The prognosis is very grim.”

“She does look a little pale, doesn’t she?”

“And _green_ , too--”

Charlotte kept her eyes screwed tightly shut. 

Ever since her father had fetched the good doctor from Sanditon after she’d fallen ill, the twins wanted nothing more than to poke and prod whoever was within reach. More often than not, Charlotte was badgered into playing the patient. 

_Rather more like victim_ , she thought wryly.

The girls chattered overhead as she laid in the cushioning grass.

It was a very fine day. Sunlight broke between the clouds and warmed her skin. Gentle breezes ruffled her dress, her hair. The air smelled fresh and clean, like fresh pine and autumn pollen. A smile twitched at her mouth before she remembered she was obliged to play dead.

More than a fortnight had passed with her dutifully remaining abed -- though she had nearly gone mad during the course. The fever she had caught in the deluge had lasted only a day and Dr. Fuchs had given her a clean bill of health shortly thereafter. Her father would not hear a single word of it. Knowing how guilt-ridden he was, Charlotte bore the boredom of the sickbed as best she could. It hadn’t been his fault an unnatural downpour had caught her dreadfully unaware, but nothing soothed her father’s worry. He blamed himself. It wouldn’t have been judicious to call him her jailer, but in her darkest moments, Charlotte was wont to admit the title was warranted.

Although her siblings visited her room frequently, they were all too quickly dispatched by their well-meaning mother. “Let her rest,” Mrs. Heywood would cluck to them every morning, and shutter the windows and draw the curtains, leaving Charlotte in the dark to think and think.

Thankfully she had her books for company and eventually Alison was able to procure a quill and some parchment for Charlotte’s use. She wrote to Mary and Georgiana, and even Lady Susan. No doubt word of her father’s infamous ride into Sanditon had reached eager gossips. Dr. Fuchs had painted a very vivid picture of a wild man on horseback whose hooves thundered down his practice’s doors as torrents of icy rain sluiced through the streets. Knowing Ember’s temperament as a sweet and gentle horse, the Heywoods had found the hyperbolic anecdote quite amusing, as did her friends.

“Char _-lotte_ ,” Anne sighed petulantly. “You’re supposed to stay _still_.”

Charlotte opened her eyes to see Jane throw her hands up, the perfect picture of a very aggrieved pirate-surgeon. “You can’t expect us to operate in these conditions!”

Charlotte pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, then slowly sat upright with her arms straight out in front of her. She blinked wildly. “Why, Doctor Blackbeard, I think I’ve come back to life!”

The twins exchanged glances, fascinated and terrified in equal measure. They let out a roaring scream and took off on a run -- and it was, of course, in a zombie creature's nature to pursue delicious brains. The morning passed in this manner, much to the twins’ delight. They were a rambunctious duo, carefree in their girlish youth as they tumbled through grass and climbed trees and held up insects for Charlotte’s inspection. Perhaps she should have nipped their behavior in the bud, but she couldn’t bring herself to correct them. Fun was fleeting. In the blink of an eye, both Anne and Jane would be expected to be proper and well-behaved. No more bugs or swashbuckling derring-do.

At lunchtime, they began their journey back to the Heywood home. While Anne and Jane seemed to have exponential energy, Charlotte lagged behind. Remaining indoors as long as she had had sapped her of endurance -- it took many years of training to keep up with the twins -- but she did not mind the slower walk. It allowed for thought best experienced in beautiful scenery.

Lady Susan’s latest correspondence was rife with the suggestion that Charlotte participate in next year’s Season. What was more, she’d generously offered to act as both benefactor and chaperone. To not consider the offer was foolish. Lady Susan was one of the most powerful women in the _ton_ , and Charlotte did not discount her influence or friendship in the least. Though she held no title, nor was she in possession of an attractive dowry, with Lady Susan’s help she could bring a respectable gentleman up to scratch.

Venturing out into London society should have felt like a fairytale. Dance cards, balls and soirees. Dinners and lively conversation. Six months of courting. And, if she were lucky, a proposal waiting at the very end. Her stomach clenched at the thought. Thoughts of marriage felt cold and aseptic. Or, perhaps, it was merely the thought of marrying someone who wasn’t _him_. 

A wave of melancholy washed over her, and just in time to hear the distinct cacophony that was a carriage clambering along Willingden’s thoroughfare. She moved to the grassy hillside path so as not to impede it. Under normal circumstances, Charlotte would have quickly taken note of the carriage. Perhaps even waved at its occupants. It was not often that visitors came through their little parish, and rarer still was the usage of this road. However, she was in no mood to socialize with strangers and so continued on her way.

Soon enough, however, she realized the carriage’s approach had slowed considerably and was now keeping in league with her. She glanced down. The fanciful thought of highway robbers came and went, quickly replaced by the more obvious reason for their slowing down: No one ever came to Willingden, and so they must be lost. Just as she turned to call down to the driver to inquire, she heard a terrible thumping come from inside the wheelhouse and the horses were pulled up short.

In a quick movement, the door was flung open, and Sidney Parker emerged from inside. His mouth hung open in surprise, and Charlotte was sure her expression matched his in-kind -- though her face had gone numb from dumb shock, and could not, in that moment, rightly say if she had eyebrows or a nose.

It felt like a dream.

Or, more accurately, a nightmare.

Senses zapped, she tried to stammer out a question of health for Mary and the children, and the two other Parker brothers, but the words came forth sluggishly. Even she knew she was far too quiet to be heard. She cleared her throat. Her face burned red. “Are Mary and the children well?” she asked. “And Tom and Arthur?”

He gave jerky nods in response, and an overloud, “They are well.” 

From the very beginning of their acquaintance, Charlotte had known Sidney to be an assured man. Even when he was still he felt kinetic and purposeful, but the man that stood in the road before her swayed forward and back as if pulled in either uncompromising directions. 

His reaction to finding her, clearly without having meant to, seemed to have derailed his decisive nature -- and the moment ticked by in stunned silence as they appraised one another at long last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you times a million to all you lovely readers out there. you make writing an absolute dream <3


	6. Interlude

There she stood, blinking down at him. Her hair fell unfashionably around her shoulders in soft waves, as if she were a young girl and not a woman of marriageable age. A bonnet hung loosely about her neck, dancing in the breeze. He drank in every little detail. The roughspun dress. The apron died around her waist. Her bare hands. The gloves peeking out from a side pocket. The dried dirt on the tips of her walking boots. Clips of grass clinging to her skirt hem.

Sidney’s heart beat a quick tattoo. Words had completely fled him.

Yet again, fate had conspired to bring him and Miss Heywood together. It had been pure chance that he’d looked out the carriage window. Pure chance that the figure in the distance would be visible to him, yet it was not chance at all that he’d recognized her. 

Even if a hundred years had passed, he would know her. The slope of her shoulders. The loose gait of her walk, unconstrained, and so unlike the small, tidy steps of the other women of his acquaintance -- he’d been unable to halt his fist from thumping madly on the roof of the carriage.

Asking his driver to stop along the path to converse with an unchaperoned woman was what had led him along this long, meandering road, but he could not let the moment pass him by.

And now here he stood on the dusty path, a million words lodged in his throat.

In the end, it was two screaming children who burst the bubble. They came out of the woodwork like forest nymphs and launched themselves at Charlotte’s legs. They only stopped rabble-rousing when they realized they were in the company of strangers. Just as quickly as they’d attacked, they now hid behind Charlotte’s skirts.

“Anne, Jane, please--” Charlotte insisted, and she sent Sidney a harried look. She gripped both the girls by the elbow and brought them forward as if for military inspection. The whisper -- or threat -- of behavior was not lost in the winds as perhaps Charlotte would have wished, and Sidney tamped down his grin as proper introductions were next made.

“Girls, this is Mr. Sidney Parker,” she said. “Mr. Parker, these are my _sisters_ \-- not a pair of bear cubs, believe it or not -- Anne and Jane.”

“Mr. Parker, how d’you do,” they chorused. Anne or Jane continued, “Is he the one you stayed with in Sanditon?”

A pretty flush crawled across the bridge of Charlotte’s nose. Sidney noted she looked a touch more pale than she had when he’d last seen her, but she otherwise looked hearty and hale. 

Before he’d left Bedford Placed, he’d scoured all of Tom’s letters to find any mention of her health. Beyond the initial report of a Mr. Heywood’s descent upon Sanditon in search of their physician, no further mention of her well-being had been contained therein. The absence of Miss Heywood in correspondence could have meant nothing, or everything; with Tom, there was little discretion in between. What had settled Sidney instead was the dearth of news from Mary; who, as he shamefully understood, knew the depths of his feelings for Charlotte and had made no secret to how she’d fanned the flames before the midsummer ball. Her immense disappointment when he’d returned from London, engaged, had nearly been as unbearable as witnessing Charlotte’s heartbreak.

“No,” she said, “I stayed with Mr. _Tom_ Parker. Sidney-- that is, Mr. Parker _here_ is his brother.”

“To add to further confusion,” he interjected, “there is yet another Mr. Parker among us.”

“ _Three_ Mr. Parkers?” Jane and Anne said together.

Charlotte cut him a startled glance as the twins giggled, as if the idea of three Parkers were the silliest joke.

The moment was so pleasant he forgot himself and returned her look with a wide grin.

At this, she shooed her sisters off with a request to go play for a moment, and then she marched down the grassy hill, shoulders rolled back. If she had a sword in hand, Sidney thought she would mean to skewer him.

“What does Willingden owe the pleasure of your visitation, sir? _Is_ your other brother well? And Miss Diana?” Her eyebrows furrowed, and another startled look flitted across her face. “Is-- Is Miss Lambe--”

“Miss Heywood, I assure you all is well.” He cast around for an explanation, but in truth, there was none to be had. He had not meant to stumble upon her at all, and though the coincidence allowed him to see with his own eyes that she was well, and safe, there was naught for him to say. Not until he spoke to Mr. Heywood and settled his affairs. He drew himself up. “I am on my way to your father’s estate.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “On what purpose?”

“Miss Heywood--”

“On what purpose,” she repeated firmly, voice wobbling, and Sidney realized a moment too late he may have given her a sense of hope, for what other reason would a gentleman such as him seek her father?

“It is a matter of business,” he said, which again, was not at all what he meant to say, though he hadn’t intended to say anything at all to Charlotte in the first place. The memory of her tear-filled gaze as he’d stopped her carriage leaving Sanditon leapt into the forefront of his mind. The look on her face as he’d dismounted his horse.

“This matter of business--” She glanced about them; behind her to her sisters spinning in the tall grass, and Mr. Blythe, who’d taken a very vested interest in his fingernails in the driver’s seat. Then, to his surprise, she grabbed him by the forearm and bodily hauled him behind the carriage. “Mr. Parker, I must ask you to be direct with me. Are you-- married?”

His pulse jumped in his throat. “I am not.”

“And do you remain engaged to Mrs. Campion?”

“I do, but--”

“Then you must turn your carriage around at once,” she said, brows furrowed. “If all is well in Sanditon, then you most certainly do _not_ have business here.”

“Miss Heywood,” he breathed, lips twitching up into a smile though he wished he could hold it back. She was so incredibly stubborn. He’d missed her. He’d missed _this_. “We haven’t seen one another in some time. I would prefer not to quarrel so soon.”

“If you leave, then we will have no cause for quarrel.”

“I cannot leave and so quarrel we must.”

Her eyebrows furrowed together and her nose scrunched up in thought. “You are just as stubborn as I remember, Mr. Parker,” she said after a long moment.

“Then we are well-matched in that regard,” he replied. He cleared his throat and looked away, embarrassed at yet again losing the thread of his argument. “We’ve traveled a long way, Miss Heywood. There is no turnabout on this path as far as I can see. The horses need turned down, as well as oats and water -- perhaps you might suggest an inn or similar where I may take this business?”

“I am sorry to inform you that Willingden does not have an inn. So few visitors or travelers come through as it is,” she said, “that the only reason for a stop would be for a familial call or… carriage accident… But I suppose you are in luck, sir, for the Heywoods are generally good-natured and may seek to assist you as you require.”

He smiled down at her and realized she had conceded to allow him to continue along his travels to the Heywood estate. The breeze caught her hair yet again and his fingers itched to tuck a lock of her tumbling curls behind her ear. “Thank you, Miss Heywood,” he said, and sketched a short bow. “Until we meet again.”

There was naught to be done further but clamber back into his carriage and continue on his way.


End file.
